Aftermath
by Senza Tracce
Summary: Six months ago the outbreak began. The things of horror films, the things people joked about, became a reality, and the world is now overrun by huge masses of zombies. AU. RobStar, initial BBTerra, eventual BBRae and AquaTerra.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Teen Titans or any characters affiliated with it, nor do I own the concept of zombies. Seriously, I don't own anything.

Character key:

Tara- Terra

Gar- Beast Boy

Rachel- Raven

Kori- Starfire

Dick- Robin

Victor- Cyborg

* * *

The pantry's full of food, and Tara's stomach is growling at a dangerous volume. She can't control the noise but she's otherwise silent as she quickly stuffs every container of food into her large bag. Once it's completely full, a grin blossoms on her face from the fact that this load will last her at least four days if she rations it correctly.

Outside, she can hear the two zombies she had outrun growling loudly as they pound on the door she locked, trying to push past the wooden barrier in order to run up to her and viciously feast on her flesh.

Once the pantry's empty Tara doesn't waste another moment, knowing that it's only a matter of time before the walkers (nickname courtesy of her dear mother) break past the door. Gripping the bag tightly, her other hand holding her ax, and her gun in its holster, she jogs over to the opposite side of the house, and turns a corner to where she assumes the back door is.

And it's opening slowly.

Tara's hand raises the ax in preparation, but instead of a disgusting zombie, she's met with the sight of the brightest green eyes she's ever seen and a gun pointing right at her.

The boy is just as tan as she is, with dark freckles sprinkled on his cheeks, and dirty blonde hair that's almost brown. And his eyes-they're wide, and the irises are hard to decipher but it's such a mesmerizing shade of green, as if she's staring at a canopy of trees from above, wondering what's lurking beneath, but not able to reveal anything because she just can't get close enough-

"I'm not bit, if that's what you're wondering," says Tara once she realizes that all they've been doing for the past two minutes is staring at each other in surprise.

The boy blushes a deep shade of red, and lowers his gun, but doesn't put it away. Tara lowers her ax.

"Seems a bit silly to be carrying around an ax instead of a gun." His voice isn't too deep, and holds the traces of boyhood still within it's timbre. It's a pleasant voice, though Tara might be biased since it's the first person she's talked to in more than six months.

"Sound attracts the walkers," is the only explanation she gives. He nods and Tara's eyes flicker over to the open door. The sound of growling zombies is still echoing in the background, and their nails scratching the wood is loud, too loud, and anxiety's creeping up on her like a ghost. "I raided the entire place. So there's no point in staying here. Let's go before they break through the door."

The boy gapes at her, obviously surprised by irritated tone, but he complies, and they both run out of the small house before the walkers take any notice of them; and by the time they do, they're too far away for them to catch up. They're in the middle of the woods, running as fast as their legs allow them too, but it's not surprising that Tara's just the slightest bit ahead of him. Before the disaster had struck, before the world fell to shit, she had been the star member of the track team with a handful of scholarships waiting for her, and just a few seconds short of reaching a time worthy for nationals.

Zombies that linger in the woods catch a sniff of them and begin chase, right at their heels, and the boy turns back and shoots, the bullet hitting one of them right between the eyes.

"You idiot!" Tara yells. "Now more of them are going to come!"

"You want them to keep chasing us?" he yells back. And Tara lets out an angry grunt and stops, dropping her bag on the ground, and gripping her ax with both hands so that when one walker gets close enough, she swings it and the blade embeds itself right into its head. She grunts as she pulls it out and then hacks repeats the motion again and again on at least four walkers, and the boy is shooting again and again and again, and suddenly all the zombies are on the ground, completely mutilated.

Before more can come, Tara picks up her bag and both of them set off running again.

The boy suddenly takes a sharp left, and Tara follows, wondering where he's going, when they reach a road that would be otherwise empty if it weren't for the silver jeep parked there. The boy opens the driver seat and gets in. Tara runs to the other side and hops into the passenger seat, clutching her bag of food to her chest after closing the door. The boy wastes no time and the car speeds forward, quickly gaining speed, and within no time, they're miles away from the house.

Suddenly, Tara's giggling, and the boy glances at her with those wide green eyes of his, and then he's chuckling along with her, until they're both full out laughing. There's drying blood all over their clothes, and splattered onto their faces, and they're laughing so hard that Tara has to clutch her stomach as her muscles contract in pain and the boy has tears running down his face.

It doesn't occur to her to tell him to focus on the road because what other cars could he possibly crash into? And it doesn't occur to her to ask him how old he is because if laws were still in place, he probably wouldn't be allowed to drive yet, just like her. She's just shy of fifteen, and she's sure that he's, at most, a few months older than her.

They both calm down, and he glances at Tara from the corner of his eye, and Tara grins.

"I'm Tara."

"Gar."

* * *

Gar's group doesn't approve of his new companion.

Tara supposes that she ought to be offended, but she understands that it's a matter of trust. They don't know her, so they don't trust her. How can they trust a girl with their lives when they know absolutely nothing about her?

Gar had tried to defend her honor, but for now she's under constant surveillance and her weapons have been confiscated, which is a deep wound to her pride, especially since, if they're ever under attack, she has no way to defend herself. She would have to _depend_ on someone to protect her, and the thought of dependency's sickening.

The group's paranoia's overwhelming, and they had her tied up. One of her hands is handcuffed to a pipe, and she's in an entirely different room from where they're all staying. The group has been hiding out in an abandoned warehouse, one where airplanes parts had once been held and manufactured, and they had cleared it of walkers before settling there. It's away from the city, a few miles into the suburbs, so the surrounding area is relatively empty, and has mostly forest around it.

The group consists of Dick, Kori, Rachel, Victor, and Gar. Tara isn't sure of their history, but from the brief account given to her by Gar, they had all found each other in the outskirts of L.A. Gar was living in San Francisco at the time of the outbreak and had found his way to L.A., where he joined up with the rag-tag team of survivors.

The door creaks open. Tara looks away from the spot of the ceiling she had been staring at for the past couple of hours, and her eyes instantly connect with bright green ones. A smile finds its way onto her face, and Gar grins back at her.

"The lady must be starving," he says, setting the tray down beside her, and then sitting in front of her, his legs crossed indian-style and the gun laying on his lap.

"The lady thanks the gentleman for his offering," Tara says. She digs into the cold chicken sandwich, barely chewing as she eats savagely.

Gar blinks and then laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. "You eat worse than I do, dude!"

Tara flips him off, and continues to eat, Gar's laugh echoing throughout the room.

* * *

After a week, Tara is released from her imprisonment. The group's wary of her, rightfully so, but they make the effort to integrate her into the group.

The room where they typically reside in should be the last place Tara can think of as...cozy, but somehow it is. It looks like a home, which is the rarest thing in a world plagued with death. There are sleeping bags littered in the corner of the room, all near each other, and one cot with blankets haphazardly strewn over its surface. In the middle of the room, there's a table with maps and papers littered all over it, but Tara doesn't bother to see what the contents are, as she's distracted by the sight of a self-made kitchen opposite of what she deems the bedroom. It's small but there's food stocked up everywhere, most of which she recognizes as her load.

For a brief moment, she feels inexplicable anger at the sight of them casually stealing what she risked her life for, but it seeps away and all she's left with is relief at the fact they're allowing her to stay.

She doesn't think she can last any more days by herself out there.

An arm casually slings over her shoulders. Tara initially stiffens but she soon realizes that it's Gar, and he's grinning at her. He's her height, which makes her happy because she doesn't have to stretch her neck to look up at him like she has to for the rest of the group except for Rachel.

"What do you think?"

"It's cute," she says. At the door, she hears a scoff, and she turns around to meet Victor's indignant stare.

"It's not cute! It's _awesome_. Remodeled everything myself," he says, pride laced in his deep voice. Tara grins widely.

"Just because it's cute doesn't mean it's awesome!"

Gar's laughing at her side, and Kori and Dick walk in with a silent Rachel behind them.

Victor is shaking his head. "Nah, girl. You're wrong there."

"But what is wrong with our home being of the cute?" ask Kori, staring innocently at Victor.

"It. Is. Not. Cute." Victor's crossing his arms over his chest, though it's hard with the prosthetic arm.

"If you say so, Vic." Dick grins and pats his friend on the shoulder before entering the room, Kori looking confused as she follows him. Gar and Tara are giggling, and at the door, Rachel's silent, not meeting anyone's eyes.

* * *

"So," says Tara, nudging Gar's stomach with her elbow, "what exactly is Gar short for?"

Gar chuckles nervously. "What makes you think it's short for anything? It's just Gar." He waves a hand. "Heh, you're crazy."

Across the room Victor laughs loudly. Tara looks at him, a grin stretched across her lips, and says, "Dude, if you know it, tell me!"

Victor just continues to laugh, and shakes his head; tears stream from his eyes. He walks out of the room before Tara can get anything out of him.

Tara pouts. Across the table, Gar's blushing madly.

"Come on! Just tell me!"

"Uh...no?"

"Why not?"

If possible, Gar's blush deepens. "Because...it's my secret identity! Yeah! That's it!"

"Yeah, a secret identity." Tara rolls her eyes. "What are you? A superhero?"

Gar stands up from his place on the ground, and puffs out his chest, fists on his hips. "For all you know, I'm Superman!"

"That's about as likely as you being green."

Gar visibly deflates, but his grin comes back, beaming at her like a ray of sunshine. Tara mentally slaps herself for comparing his smile to the sun.

Rachel enters the room, her face hidden by a book. She ignores Tara and Gar as they continue bickering and giggling.

It isn't until Gar tackles Tara and begins to tickle her that Rachel speaks up: "His real name is Garfield."

They both freeze. Gar's on top of Tara, straddling her waist, and his hands are under her pits where she's apparently ticklish. Tara's hands are on his chest, where she had been trying to push him away. Gar's staring at Rachel, a betrayed expression on his face, but Tara's lips are in a tight line. She tries to hold it in but she bursts into giggles.

"If you say like the cat-"

"Garfield the cat!"

Tara shrieks when Gar starts to tickle her again. Rachel stoically stares at them for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and leaving the room.

* * *

It's the middle of the night when gentle hands shake Tara awake. Kori's kind face comes into view when Tara opens her eyes, and she yawns, still tired despite having slept majority of the night.

"Kori?"

"Forgiveness, Tara. I was told that it is our turn to keep watch," says Kori.

Tara nods. She pushes the cover of her sleeping bag off her thin form, and quickly finds her shoes, slipping them on and lazily tying the laces.

She follows Kori outside, and barely even reacts when the redhead hands her a gun. They sit down at couple of feet away from the entrance of the warehouse. Tara has to remind herself not to fall asleep again.

A couple of minutes later, that becomes a pointless worry. Kori's a bundle of energy; she can hardly sit still and fidgets every few seconds, and every so often she'll glance at Tara before looking away as if she had done something wrong.

Tara raises an eyebrow. "What's up, Kori?"

If Kori were paler, perhaps she would have blushed, but the expression on her face is enough to show Tara that the older girl is deeply embarrassed at being caught.

"N-nothing is the up!"

Tara shrugs, though she doesn't believe her. "Okay. Hey, can I ask a question?"

"I believe you just did," says Kori. Most people would have have said that sarcastically. Kori had just said it as a matter of fact.

Tara giggles. "Okay, another. Where are you from? You talk as if English isn't your first language but I can't place your accent."

"Oh! I am from a small island in New Guinea. My people are the Tamaraneans," explains Kori.

Tara gapes at her for a few seconds before asking, "So, how'd you get here? I mean, I'm probably wrong but isn't New Guinea pretty cut off from everything?"

"There are many people and tribes in New Guinea."

"Can you tell me about it?"

Kori's face lights up. She tells Tara everything she can about her home: the nature that had kept her people simultaneously safe and in danger; the neighboring tribes that could ally you one day and declare war the next; the way her people had loved and cherished her until she had been made a peace offering had been made between the Tamaraneans and the Gordanians.

Tara listens to every word attentively, struck in awe by Kori's history. She gasps when Kori shares the horror of being a slave to a cruel tribe, and has to resist the urge to cheer when Kori explains how a researcher had saved her and brought her to the United States.

By the end, Kori's smiling sadly, but it's obvious that she forgives her tribe for what they had done. Tara hugs her.

"It is alright, Tara. I am fine now," she says, grinning, "and I have friends such as you and the others."

Tara pulls away, nodding. "Yeah, you're right."

"Might it be alright if you share with me what it was like before...this?"

Tara stiffens. The urge to say no is strong, so strong, but how could she possibly do that after Kori had opened up to her so willingly?

"I was really normal, Kori. My life wasn't interesting. I went to school, went to track meets, came home, did homework, aaaand repeat." She fails to mention the history between her father and mother; fails to mention how she's the bastard child of a king in a small nation, the dark, dark secret no one can find out about in Markovia. "My mom died during the outbreak. A walker tore her arm off and she yelled at me to run away."

Kori's eyes are watering. She places a hand on Tara's arm and shakes her head.

"Tell me something happy, Tara."

Tara gapes at Kori, and then gulps, looking away from her to stare at the forest, and the trees-the trees that remind her of the park that had been across the street from the small house she had lived in with her mom.

"When I was like six, I think, my mom took me to Disney Land." Tara laughs and shakes her head. "That's so cliche, but it really was the best day of my life. My mom wasn't a bad mom, or a bad person, but she worked a lot when I was growing up and she was seriously paranoid, so that one day she was just..._normal_. And it was nice. We went on the Dumbo ride, which is this ride where you sit inside this metal thing that looks exactly like the elephant Dumbo and you lift up into the air and it's like you're flying in circles. And we went inside Cinderella's castle..."

Kori smiles, paying just as much attention as Tara had before.

* * *

"I don't trust her."

"Well, I'm not keen on you right now either, but I'm not going to slit your throat in the middle of the night."

"No but you might leave me for the zombies," snaps Rachel, glaring at Tara with furious dark blue eyes that are a shade closer to violet than anything.

Tara scowls. "I wouldn't leave anyone for the walkers. I'm not a fucking monster!"

"How are we supposed to know that? We don't know _anything _about you!" Rachel's voice is an octave short of yelling, and Tara's shocked because in the month that she's been around the group, Rachel's made herself known as quiet, albeit angry at her presence. She never complained about Tara, only cast suspicious glances her way.

But the second Dick said that Tara would accompany her on a raid…

"It's not about knowing about me! It's about trusting someone to have a bit of morality!"

"Hey, hey!" Dick cuts between them, his voice stern, and his striking blue eyes glaring intensely at both of them. Rachel visibly calms down, reverting back to her passive demeanor, but Tara's seething and it shows on her face. "That's enough. Tara's proved that she means no harm to us. She had plenty of opportunities to kill us and she hasn't. And if she's going to stay with us, she has to pull her weight around too. So, no complaining. From _either _of you."

Rachel scowls, and Tara glares, but neither of them say anything. Dick stares at them both and then nods at Victor, who takes that as his cue to come up to them and wrap his arms around their shoulders, careful to make sure the metal prosthetic he had didn't hit Tara.

(In the beginning stages of the outbreak, Victor had his arm bitten by a walker. His father, still alive at the time, couldn't face the possibility of losing his son, and in a moment of sheer insanity, cut off Victor's arm before the infection could spread. Victor had passed out from the blood loss, and when he had awoken, he had a metal prosthetic that allowed him to place a variety of weapons within it. Typically he had a knife inserted within it, but when Tara had first arrived, she had caught him with a chainsaw.

It was possibly one of the scariest, and coolest, sights she had ever seen.)

"Now come on, ladies. It'll be fun. We'll just kick a few zombie butts here and there and be on our way back home in no time. And maaaaybe, we'll find a nice bookstore and some _real _good."

Tara smiles at Victor, her bad mood instantly vaporized in the presence of someone with no ill humor towards her.

Three hours later, after raiding an abandoned department store, they're running from a herd of walkers. The sound of gunfire fills the air as they shoot at the walkers repeatedly, aiming at their brains the best as they can. Victor is limping and his right shoulder is bleeding heavily, and Rachel's stoic, and Tara has tears streaming down her face from the large gash on her side but she's still shooting as best as she can.

Rachel trips, and Tara's a few feet ahead when she notices, but she turns back and helps Rachel up, the thought of leaving her behind for self-preservation not even crossing her mind until one walker is right in front of them. Tara shoots it right between the eyes, and Rachel doesn't even utter a brief thank you before she's running away. Tara mumbles under her breath, "Bitch," and runs after her.

There's a large tree root on the ground that Tara doesn't see. She trips and lands on her left side - the side where she had been cut by the glass door she had to break through once a walker had chased after her in the department store they had been raiding. A scream tears from her throat. About five walkers run towards her, growling viciously, and Tara's screaming in terror now instead of pain, and she's crawling backwards, trying her best to get away but they're closing in on her, and she can't die, she can't die - not like this.

She shoots at two of them but runs out of bullets. She's panting, and her side is on fire, and the walkers are closing in on her. Victor and Rachel are running away, their footsteps gradually getting less loud, and the walkers are losing interest in them and coming to _her_.

"Shit shit shit shitshitshitshit!" Terra's sobbing now but she finds the will to stand up and, using the butt of her gun, she bashes in the head of a walker closest to her. The others are closing in on her, and she practically feels the upcoming pain, and she's panicking because she can't die, not yet, not yet, she's not ready -

Two beams of light suddenly focus on her and the walkers are momentarily distracted, enough so that she runs in the opposite direction. Behind her, she hears a car and the crushing of bodies as they smack into a windshield. She looks back to see the driver's window roll down. Victor is yelling at her, but a zombie comes up to him and instead of panicking he shoots it without a seconds thought.

He drives the car up to her and she quickly opens the door and jumps inside, closing it while yelling, "Get the _fuck_ out of here!" and then they're driving at top speed away from the area.

Tara collapses onto her seat. Her vision is spotty and she's panting heavily and it's becoming harder to breathe. One of her hands press onto her side and she can feel the blood flowing out of her, and it hurts.

"Don't you die on us, Tara!" is the last thing she hears before passing out.

* * *

Victor's shoulder had been scratched on the raid.

Kori has been going crazy tending to him. A lot of times, ignoring Kori's demands that Tara rest in order to heal up properly, she stays with Kori and helps her take care of Victor. The fever has claimed Victor but he's taking it in well stride, and going through it with as much dignity as possible.

While aiding Kori in cooking some soup for Victor, Kori suddenly speaks up and says, "If there is no cure, it is cruel to keep him alive right now."

Tara's knife pauses in the middle of chopping the onions. Kori's a sweet girl, one that, despite the circumstances, has a positive outlook on life. In the brief time she's known her, no negativity has ever fallen past her lips; not even when she had told her of her past.

To hear Kori say something like that…Tara doesn't know how to react.

"Then what should we do?"

Kori drops in the chicken into the pot. Her wide green eyes stare inside at the boiling soup, and there's a deep sadness lurking in their depths, swirling inside the sea of green the same shade as the ocean. It's a look of someone who has suffered greatly, and while Tara knows that they've all suffered, she's never seen the emotion displayed so openly in front of her.

"I wish it were different, Tara," Kori says slowly, as if it pains her to say it, "but I think it would be best for him to die an easy death. No one should suffer. And we are no closer to finding a cure than we were months ago."

Tara continues to chop the onions. "Should we ask him if he prefers to shoot himself or which one of us he wants to do it?"

* * *

They've become desensitized to death but nothing can stop the grief of losing a friend.

Kori cries every night when she thinks that no one can hear her. No one has the heart to tell her that they stay awake because of her quiet sobbing.

Dick's more quiet than before, which isn't surprising to Tara. The only person he talks to often is Kori, and Tara knows that it's only because they're in love. It's as obvious as pointing out that the sun is hot. There's no denying it, but they try to keep up the pretense that they aren't together; that when they go off in search of food together, they aren't stealing kisses and soft embraces.

(Tara caught them once when she was on her way to the bathroom. Kori had been pressed against the wall, her hands tangled in Dick's hair, and Dick had been holding her so close to him, as if he were afraid that she might disappear, and their lips were moving together fervently. It was quiet, and passionate, and Tara didn't have the heart to break them apart.

She had walked away before either of them could notice her. She ended up just peeing out in the woods.)

Rachel's…Rachel. Ever since the incident where Tara helped her run from the walkers, she's stopped glaring at Tara and seems to have given up on being openly hostile, though there's still that glint in her eyes that says "You are not one of us. I do not like you. And I never will." The only acknowledgement of what transpired weeks ago was a brief, stiff nod from the older girl that had Tara rolling her eyes.

And Gar...he's taking his best friend's death in the best way he can-with distractions. He's constantly around someone, never alone, and he always manages some way to keep himself busy. There's never a moment where he pauses and takes a breather, never a moment where he can sit down and think, "I just lost my best friend."

Tara can't imagine his loss. Although she grieves for Victor, and misses his cheerful attitude, his humor, his smile, the way he managed to knit this ragtag group together, she didn't _know_ him. They hadn't been close, not like she is with Gar or even Kori, and yes, she's sad, but she's not broken like the rest of them are.

The night is quiet except for the rustling of leaves, but Tara knows it's because of the soft wind blowing past and not because of any living, or nonliving, entity. Keeping guard's a necessary measure of ensuring that the warehouse remains safe and habitable because if a herd of walkers were to walk in, it would no longer be a safe haven.

It hasn't felt like one in a long while, though. Not since Victor shot himself and Tara had to help Dick scrape bits of their friend's brain off the wall.

Besides her, Gar sighs. Tara turns to look at him, not minding the least that she's not staring at the forest anymore because it's a break from her own thoughts that constantly weigh her down.

Gar's staring at the gun laying on his lap, and there's something in the slant of his mouth that shows that he's trying to compose himself because whatever he's feeling is too strong, too vulnerable, to be displayed openly.

Tara's heart aches for him so deeply that it scares her.

The revelation shocks her, and she doesn't want to think about it, not now or ever, because to become attached is to become weak, and weakness is not something she can allow, not after...

Before her thoughts can wander into the dark abyss waiting to suck her in, Tara says, "What's your favorite color?"

It's a random question, and it's pointless, and most of all it's _safe_.

Gar blinks, but his eyes soften, possibly because he realizes what she's attempting to do. "Green."

"I like red. Together, that makes Christmas colors."

A laugh erupts from Gar's mouth, and it's so unexpected that it comes out more like a choking sound that ends abruptly, as if he's trying to stuff it back into his lungs, to erase it from existence.

The fact that Gar has to physically hold himself back from enjoying anything is a jab to Tara's heart and before she even thinks about it, her hand presses against the back of his neck, pulling his face towards hers, and her lips are touching his.

It's Tara's first kiss; all she can think about is the calloused hand on her cheek, and the fingers knotted in her dirty hair, and how when his tongue slides into her mouth, she briefly freaks about how bad her breath must smell like, but his hair's soft in between her fingers, and his lips burn hers. It's like he sparked something within her, turned a switch on inside of her, and now she can't separate herself from him because he's here, and he's alive, and he's real, and she's never felt this way before.

There's a small voice in the back of her mind whispering that good things cannot exist in this present, but as they break apart to breathe, all she does is ignore it.

Ignorance is bliss, and right now, she'd like to remain so.

* * *

The next few days are a small reprieve from the gloom that had been hanging over them like a veil. After Dick performs a miraculous raid and found _clean _clothes, as well as enough food to last them a month, the group finds themselves recuperating from Victor's death. It still looms over them; however, Victor wouldn't want for them to suffer a crippling depression. He would want for them to keep on living - to be the survivors he had believed them to be.

Gar and Tara don't bother to keep their relationship a secret. They hold hands often, and they sleep besides each other at night. None of the others say anything, but Rachel stares at Tara with this _look _in her eyes whenever she seems to think Tara and Gar won't notice.

Tara notices. She always notices, even when something is subtle. Just because she pretends to be oblivious doesn't mean she is; if she was, she would have died a long time ago.

(Still, Tara pretends to be oblivious to the way Rachel's eyes linger on Gar for a few seconds after they finish conversing; pretends to be oblivious to the way Gar's so comfortable around the girl that he has no trouble wrapping an arm around her shoulders, even when she scowls at him and tells him to get off; pretends to be oblivious to how long they hugged after Victor's death, how they were the only ones able to comfort each other.

Sometimes, being oblivious is the only way to prevent monsters from creeping up on you and stealing your sanity. She doesn't want to think about losing one of the only good things she's had since the end of the world began.)

It's barely sunrise but Tara and Dick are awake; Tara because she's been up all night and Dick because he and Kori had been keeping watch, though Kori fell asleep hours ago. Rachel's still asleep, her back to everyone, and Gar is curled up in the sleeping bag that he shares with Tara.

Tara's helping Dick take out some of the garbage to burn about ten miles away from the warehouse when the sound of a twig snapping echoes in the air.

Their reactions are instantaneous: both of their guns are in their hands and pointing in the direction of the noise.

But, instead of a mindless zombie, they're met with the sight of a man around his forties with an eye patch.

Tara lowers the gun, eyes wide. "Mr. Wilson?"


End file.
